Dreams
by Lucky Chan
Summary: Taran, still guiltridden, is a given the painful task of telling the Lady Arianllyn of her bethrothed Adaon's recent death. Fic set after the events of The Black Cauldron, in the Chronicles of Prydain series.


**Dreams**

_**Author's Notes: **A fic based on "The Black Cauldron", by Lloyd Alexander, the second book in the Chronicles of Prydain series. Arianllyn, if you recall, is Adaon's bethrothed, the one who gave him his brooch. Whatever became of her after the book, and why she would come to possess Menwy's brooch, was never mentioned in the book, and I've always been fascinated with that. (That, and I love Adaon so much…she's such a lucky girl to be betrothed to him. Hehe.)_

_I wonder if anyone else here has read this series too…?_

Many nights before, she had a dream.

It had been a long time since she had such dreams, since the day she had given the brooch to him, as a gift to celebrate their betrothal. She knew of the secret lore that lay inside the clasp, and the wisdom it imparted to whosoever would be entrusted with it. Her father had told her of its history on his deathbed: of how Menwy son of Teirgwaedd, first of the bards, fashioned it long ago, and of how it was soon passed on to her own family, as a gift of one man to his beloved.

She had worn the brooch since her father's death, and it was then that the dreams began. She would dream of things that she did not understand, of things she knew were to pass, but never did she understand them until all was too late.

When she met Adaon, son of Taliesin, she knew that it was only he, and no one else, who deserved to wear Menwy's brooch. He was the only one who could fully understand the true meaning of her dreams, and many days they spent walking beside the lake that was her namesake, talking about them. Even then, without the clasp, he understood things she never could grasp, his gray eyes always seeming to see beyond that what she could see.

He was in her dream, just some nights ago, and a strange dream it was. She chose to ignore it, however, and she chose to think only of how they would be wed when he came back from Caer Dathyl, the task of destroying Arawn's cauldron finally done. She fingered the white dress hung beside her bed, sparkling in the rays of the morning sun, pouring into her chamber from the window.

"Arianllyn," came a voice from the open door to her chamber. She looked up, meeting her mother's eyes, and she laughed reproachfully, seeing the worry reflected in them.

"Mother, must you look like so on such a day as this?" she said, standing up from her bed. "I see the dressmaker had finally finished my wedding dress. Is it not beautiful?"

Her mother dropped her gaze to the floor, and did not reply.

"There is someone at the castle gates," her mother said instead, so softly she almost did not hear. "He says he rode with Adaon, on the journey to Arawn's domain."

"That is well," she said, smiling. "I shall be down presently, mother."

"Arianllyn—"

"Mother," she said, placing a hand on her mother's shoulder. "I have told you before. Adaon and I shall be wed, as we have promised to one another."

For his calm face, as she had seen in her dream, had come to her then, and it assured her. There was nothing to fear.

Taran, Assistant Pig-Keeper of Caer Dallben, was pacing inside the waiting chamber the servants lead him to.

He knew he carried terrible news, and he wondered how he would be able to bring it to the lady, and if he would be able to watch her in her grief. His own sorrow had still not abated completely, and the thought of having to speak of Adaon's death reviled him. But he had asked to go bring the news himself, when Lord Gwydion had told them of the problem at hand.

"I am really glad that you have come," said the servant beside him, carrying a tray of refreshments. "We were most distressed as to how Lady Arianllyn took the news."

"It is true, then?" Taran said. "The Lady Arianllyn refuses to believe the news of Adaon's death?" The words chilled him still, even when many days have passed since then.

"They were to be wed, you see," the servant confided, putting the tray down on the table, "When he came back from Caer Dathyl. Lord Gwydion himself came to deliver the news, but still she would not cease the wedding preparations."

Taran's heart sank further upon hearing this. He sat down on a chair, burying his head in his hands.

"Would that Eilonwy was here," he murmured. "She would know what to do."

He could almost hear her now as she would say, "_What_ did I tell you, Taran of Caer Dallben?" But he had insisted on going alone, because he still felt responsible for Adaon's death, and it was to him that Adaon had entrusted his most prized possessions, especially his brooch. It was also his fault that the brooch was lost in the Marshes of Morva, exchanged for the Black Crochan.

The door to the chamber opened, and he looked up. A tall, fair lady with long golden hair stood at the doorway. Taran knew, without quite knowing how, that this was the lady Arianllyn. Perhaps because she fit the image in his mind perfectly, the image which Adaon had made for him whenever the young man would speak of his beloved. Taran stood up, giving a little bow.

"Taran of Caer Dallben, is it?" She gave a small curtsey, and smiled. "It is surely pleasant to make your acquaintance. I am Arianllyn, daughter of Addiena. You can leave now, Telyn," she said, turning to servant.

The servant exited the room, with a last, mournful glance at her mistress.

"You said that you rode with Adaon," she said, still smiling calmly—almost as tranquil as Adaon had looked when he died, Taran thought with a mournful pang. "I would like to hear of your travels, if it would not be too tiresome for you, of course, Taran of Caer Dallben."

"I—" Taran paused, taking a deep breath. "I do not come to bring happy news. Lord Gwydion himself would have ridden to tell you this, but I insisted on going, and so…"

She sighed then, and she hung her head, the emerald-green of her eyes seeming to fade. "You too, then, come to bring me this news."

"I'm really sorry," Taran said, as gently as possible. "But you see, I was with him, until the very last moment. He…" Taran's voice trailed off, and he felt unable to go further.

"I dreamt of him, many nights ago," she said, looking up, smiling again. "I saw him in a glade, and though winter lay all around, it was warm, and sunlit. Birds called and flowers sprung up from bare stones."

Taran gave a muted gasp, remembering Adaon's own dream, the one that had foretold his death.

"It is the exact dream that he had," Taran whispered. "Lady Arianllyn—"

"I no longer trust my dreams," she said, laying a hand on her heart. "Ever since I gave him his brooch. But I trust this one, for I know it has truth in it."

"I'm afraid you don't understand," Taran said in dismay. "Adaon also had this dream, and he knew, then, that it meant his death. But still, he chose to go with the path I had chosen, accepting the destiny laid upon him. Ever he wanted to be by your side, but still, he chose not to follow his own heart because he knew of what must be done…"

Taran's hands had clenched themselves into fists now, and his eyes remained fixed on the table, unable to look at the lady before him.

She stood up and took his hand, and he looked up into her eyes, brimming with tears.

"I knew what the dream meant," she murmured. "Even before they had come to tell me the news."

A look of shock crossed Taran's face, and he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"He had imparted me some of his wisdom," she said. "Enough, at least, to know what the dream could have meant. I chose not to think of it, and when they gave me the news, still I wept not, then, because I was proud of what he has done. Though I would have wanted to be by his side…"

Arianllyn's voice seemed to break, then, but she took a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly.

"Thank you, Taran," Arianllyn only said, looking tranquil once more, the smile returning to her pale face.

"Please, do not thank me," Taran said miserably. "I am partly to blame for his death. And he entrusted his brooch to me—and I had to give it away, to get the Black Cauldron from the three enchantresses who had it in their keeping."

"I do not blame you in any way," Arianllyn said. "Because of the loss of the brooch, many lives were saved, and Arawn's plans were thwarted, once again. I admire your courage, and your wisdom, Taran of Caer Dallben. Adaon himself would have done the same thing."

Taran nodded, feeling a little bit comforted. Many days he had wrested with his guilt, and now he felt it ease a little.

There was still one thing bothering him, and he frowned, looking at the Lady Arianllyn.

"But if you had known, all this time, of Adaon's death," he said, cautiously, "Then why do your servants speak of you not wishing to cease your wedding preparations?"

Arianllyn was silent for a time, and Taran inwardly berated himself, wishing he had known to keep his mouth shut. Eilonwy would certainly reprimand him for this, had she been with him.

"We shall still be wed," Arianllyn said, the gentle smile still on her face. "For I could never love another, not even with his death. Only Adaon son of Taliesin could ever have my heart."

A small lump appeared in Taran's throat, then, and he could only nod. He understood now, somewhat. Arianllyn's tears had begun to fall now, and he turned away. For what seemed like an eternity, there was only silence between them, as they both grieved for Adaon, son of Taliesin, who was the only one to be given the knowledge of his own destiny, but was only the only one who possessed wisdom enough to accept it, though it meant his own death.

_Credits: I got the namesake idea from a fic I read about Gwydion and Adaon, "Kind Words," by Rose Fox. I only realized that I had unconsciously used it after I wrote the drabble, but by that time I didn't know how to remove it anymore, since it kind of stuck there. --; So thanks…_


End file.
